Dearly Departed
by ElvishGrrl
Summary: This is a one-shot that I wrote after watching 3.17 "Break On Through". It's my idea of how the season 3 finale could go if they keep up the current status quo. Warning: beloved character death.


**A/N ** _This is a cathartic one-shot that I was inspired to write after watching 3.17 "Break On Through". It's my idea of how the season 3 finale could go if the show keeps up the way they are currently heading. Special thanks to **lauren3210** for helping me revise this a bit late last night. She's awesome - please go read all of her stories and leave her glowing reviews on her fabulous writing skills!_

***DISCLAIMER*** _I do **NOT** own Vampire Diaries or the characters associated with Vampire Diaries. No copyright infringement intended._

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><p><strong>Dearly Departed<strong>

Elena is desperately relieved as she finally steps into her bedroom, kicks her black heels off her aching feet and tosses her matching black clutch on her dresser. Swiftly she unzips her black cocktail dress and lets it slip to the floor in a pile of crinkled silk and chiffon as she steps out of it and heads straight to the bathroom.

Her somber reflection stares back at her from the large mirror - pale, sunken-eyed, with streaky mascara tracks down each cheek. She looks a mess. She feels a mess. She still cannot believe he's gone.

She cried when they closed the casket and again when it was lowered into the ground, but now her cheeks are sticky, yet devoid of tears. In a bit of a daze she removes her remaining make-up and scrubs her face clean.

Rather than digging out a clean pair of pajamas as intended, she finds herself reaching for the crumpled jeans and long sleeved t-shirt that lie in a discarded pile on her window seat. Apparently she's not going to bed yet, after all. It doesn't matter though - she knows she won't sleep even if she tries.

The service today was crowded and chaotic. Most of Mystic Falls seemed to be there. Ric was a teacher, so the majority of the student body came, as well as all the staff of the high school, the staff of the Grill and the entire Founder's Council, including the Mayor. Even though he'd only been in town for less than two years, he had ingrained himself well into the day-to-day society of Mystic Falls. Everyone knew who Alaric Saltzman was.

He'd had no family in town except for Elena and her brother Jeremy. And they weren't actual family, officially, more like "adopted" family. They had adopted him as much as he had adopted them, really. This meant that she had been expected to be front and centre all day, visible to everyone coming by to pay their respects. She'd had to clasp hands and receive condolences from all of these people, many of whom she could barely gather her thoughts together clearly enough today to even pinpoint their names. They'd patted her shoulder and treated her like she was his daughter. She guesses that in many ways she kind of was.

Thank goodness she'd had Jeremy and Stefan by her side the entire day. She'd been flanked by one or the other or both every time she'd glanced around. Bonnie, Caroline, Matt and Meredith were also pretty much always near by. Right now was the first time she'd been alone since she'd woken up early this morning, dreading the thought of facing what she knew from experience would be a horrendous day. And it has been. But it isn't over yet. She still has one more thing she needs to do.

She pads quietly downstairs, pulls on her sneakers and slips out of the house as silently as she can so that her brother won't notice and question her departure. After so many countless trips, her car knows the route to the boarding house without her even needing to think about it. It glides around each turn as if it has a mind of it's own and in only a few minutes pulls up in front of the large Tudor mansion. Another nagging feeling of dread builds in the pit of her stomach as she notes that Stefan's gleaming red Porsche is here, but Damon's blue Camaro is not.

Elena opens the heavy wooden door and steps into the foyer without knocking. In many ways this house has been more of a home to her than her own over the past two years.

She goes directly to the stairs and heads up to his empty study. Oddly, Damon's bedroom door is wide open. Stepping inside she glances around and quickly realizes he's not here, either. Her breath catches in her throat as she notices the plastic protective cover recently tucked over his bed sheets. She rapidly whips open the wardrobe, pulls out each drawer. They are all empty.

Before her mind can even process this information further, Stefan appears in the doorway, with one arm braced against the doorjamb.

"He left, Elena," he states quietly, distinctly. There's a note of regret in his tone. "He told me when I got back tonight. The Originals are all dead. You're no longer in danger. Ric is gone. And apparently I'm doing much better. I tried to argue, but he said there was no real reason left for him to stay. And he went." Stefan's voice cracks ever so slightly on that last word.

"He would just leave? Without even telling me?" She has spent the past three days grieving for Alaric; she has used up her entire quota of sadness for the moment. The turmoil roiling in her gut right now is driven by anger. When it comes to Damon, her varied and complex emotions know no middle ground. They are always extreme.

She pushes past Stefan without another word and heads straight back down to her car. He makes no effort to try to detain her. He knows it will do no good.

Before she puts her key in the ignition, she grabs her phone and tries to call him, even though she already knows he will not answer. She tries three times, then tosses the phone onto the passenger seat in frustration.

As she pulls out and starts down the long gravel driveway, she has a sudden epiphany. She makes her way back to the darkened cemetery on the other side of town, where her own tears dampened a small patch of grass only hours ago. Sure enough, a familiar blue Camaro is parked on the grass beside the road. She leaves her car beside his and walks through the small wrought-iron gate.

She sees the black outline of his form at a distance, standing stock still in front of Alaric's freshly covered grave. His back is to her, but she knows full well that he's aware she's there. He would have known from the second she pulled up beside his car. She's thankful for the small miracle that he didn't simply disappear, that he's still standing there with his unruly hair wafting in the slight breeze.

Pausing and resting her hand against the side of a massive oak tree, she keeps a safe distance between them for a while, giving him space to decide how he wants to deal with her presence, if at all. She knows that he, too, is grieving the loss of Alaric. He was his best friend and, to be honest, she's not sure if Damon ever had a real best friend before in all of his very long life. Of all the people in the world, she's pretty sure that she and Damon were the two that were closest to Ric. She'd really needed him there, beside her, today. She'd needed his arm to hold, his hand to clutch, his solidness and mere presence to ground herself to. Jeremy and Stefan were as supportive of her as they could be, but Damon is the only one who would have innately understood what she was going through internally and known exactly what she'd needed because it would be the same thing he'd have needed, too. And he hadn't come.

Eventually she hears the rich velvet of his voice pierce through the near-silent darkness like a lighthouse beacon.

"Are you just gonna stand back there all night?" He doesn't glance behind him.

Carefully she steps forward until she is standing beside him, both of them with their hands clasped in front, looking down at the mound of newly turned earth. The smells of fresh dirt and recently cut grass assault her senses, along with the night blooming jasmine that grows nearby. It's a heady mixture and the overwhelming impact of it makes her feel dizzy just for a moment. She is once again swept up in her grief, not only just for Ric now but for the both of them, and a few fresh tears escape the corners of her eyes before she can help it.

She squeezes her eyelids tightly shut and tries unsuccessfully to stem the flow before they flood her cheeks in earnest. Her breathing is becoming erratic and she's aware that a full out sob-fest is not far in the future if she can't contain this. She's pleasantly startled when she feels his cool touch on her hand as he envelops her fingers in his own.

They stand together like that in the darkness for a very long time, holding hands, eyes closed, each drawing on the other's stabilizing presence to help calm down. It seems to her like hours pass, days, months even.

Eventually she feels able to speak.

"Were you really just going to leave? Without even saying goodbye?" Her words are quiet, nervous, tentative. She already knows the answer. She just needs him to tell her why.

He doesn't reply for a long while. She begins to think he's not going to.

"You don't need me here anymore," he finally begins. She starts to respond but he keeps right on going over her protest. "You're not in danger any longer from Klaus or Rebekah. Or Stefan. He's managing the whole moderation thing now, and he has you now to help him going forward, if he needs it. You're his motivation now, not me. And Ric is gone."

His voices breaks and she squeezes his fingers and quietly waits until he's able to continue. When he pulls his hand out of hers, turns his back and takes one step away, she realizes he's not going to.

"Damon," she begins.

"No," he interrupts. "You do not get to guilt-trip me into staying. You got what you wanted. You have the 'old' Stefan back. Having both of us around now isn't good for any of us. You can't have it both ways. Someone will always get hurt. _You_ will get hurt. You need to let me go. Please…just let me go."

She reaches up and grabs the shoulder of his leather jacket, and he whips around to face her again. The silvery moonlight permeating the branches reflects off of unshed tears shining in the corners of his eyes and creates strange shadows across his beautiful face. Standing on tiptoes and leaning forward, she pauses when her nose is mere inches from his own.

"What if I won't?" she whispers, her own voice faltering and unsteady. "What if I can't?"

Elena presses her lips against his before he can respond. She's worried that he will reject her, push her away and vanish into the night. But he doesn't. How can he? His entire body stills at first and just as she's about to pull back and apologize, he begins to return her kiss. Slowly, hesitantly, carefully their lips move together in a gentle rhythmic dance. A dance that soon begins to pick up speed, increase pressure, intensify passion. Her mouth slips open to allow his tongue access to twist and curl around her own. She can distinctly hear her heart pounding in her chest, her blood sizzling rapidly through her arteries and veins. She swears her skin is on fire each place he's touching her. And he _is_ touching her. His hands roam across her cheeks, through her hair, over her neck and shoulders, down her arms, between her fingers. At long last he's finally touching her again. It seems like she's been waiting her entire lifetime to be touched by this man.

But then, he isn't. The cool night air is suddenly raising goosebumps across her overheated flesh and her skin is screaming out from the abrupt lack of contact.

She stands motionless but for the heaving of her breath in her lungs and the throbbing of her heart against her ribcage, and she locks eyes with him now standing several feet away from her. She waits impatiently for him to speak.

Eventually he softly says, "You know, I'd never really had someone in my life before to just be good friends with, someone who wasn't my brother, someone who I didn't have a hidden agenda toward. But I was a shitty friend to Ric. I should have listened to him when he advised me to take a step back from you last fall. I was blind and pigheaded and couldn't see past the end of my own nose. I never gave him the benefit of the doubt to try to understand why he would ask me to do it."

His brilliant blue eyes are flashing in the moonlight and now he's resurrected that protective mask of indifference over his features again.

"Go home, Elena. Go home to Stefan. Or, better yet, don't. Go home and make a fresh start of your life without either of us in it. Go to school tomorrow. And the next day, and the day after that. Lather, rinse, repeat until eventually you forget all about us. Meet yourself a nice human boy and fall in love and get married and have fat babies together. You deserve to have a real life. A great life. With me around, with either of us, you'll never have those things. You know it's what he would have wanted for you."

The few feet of distance between them seems like it's stretching out wider and deeper than the ocean right now. She can feel her throat beginning to tighten up once more.

"What if I don't want those things? What about what _I_ want? _Who_ I want? Don't I get to have a say?" She's growing angry with him again. Why do they all always think they know what's best for her?

"No, you don't. Not in this. I have to go, Elena. I _have_ to. I hope eventually you'll understand why."

She blinks and Damon is back in her personal space again. He leans down and places a quick, chaste kiss on her lips.

Softly he whispers against her skin, "When you remember me, remember that I loved you enough to let you go."

Elena opens her mouth to say he cannot leave, to finally admit that she loves him too, but it's too late. He's already gone.

She begins to run back toward their cars but she hears the Camaro's engine roar to life before she takes even two strides. By the time she reaches the cemetery gate, his taillights are already disappearing over the ridge of the distant hill.


End file.
